WET [Part 8 - Massaged]
My summer at the adults-only water park…
“Hi, Sarah. Sorry to bother you.” Maya was leaning against the desk, looked crossed, her expression a mixture of annoyance and impatience. “But it seems Anya has double booked one of our clients.”
“The masseuse?” I said.
She nodded. “Mr. Henderson has been waiting for his deep tissue massage for fifteen minutes and Anya won’t be finished for another forty-five…”
“Okay…” I said, feeling my eyes narrow slightly.
“I know you don’t have much experience in this area but…would that be something you were comfortable with?”
“Ummm...” I imagined rubbing my hands over a man’s naked body and what that would do to me. “I don’t know.”
“We could really use the help.”
“I’m not licensed. You know that, right?”
She waved her hand. “That’s not even a thing in most countries. There is no global standard for massage accreditation. Anyway, we’re really in a hole here, you’d be doing me a big favor...”
My mind raced. I could do it wrong. He could complain. Or worse…
“What if I hurt him?”
Mara laughed. “I doubt that very much. Anyway, he’s not paying for deep tissue work or chiropractic readjustment. Just put some oil on him and keep him happy. He’s paying for an hour of someone’s hands on his back, that’s all. You know what feels good, right?”
I sighed, reminding myself that the only rule that mattered at Azure was keeping the guests happy. “Fine.”
Mara smiled. “Thank you, Sarah. I won’t forget this.”
A few moments later, after crossing the resort, I let myself into the private massage suite, the door closing behind me with a soft click. Calming instrumental music playing softly from a hidden speaker, and there, lying face down on the padded table, a towel draped modestly over his lower back, was Mr. Henderson. Looking at him, I suddenly understood why Mara had laughed at my suggestion that I might hurt him.
His shoulders were wide, his back a map of clean, defined muscle, the lats flaring out and tapering to a narrow waist hidden beneath the white towel. His legs were thick and solid, calves tight beneath bronze skin that glistened faintly in the warmth, and his skin was a deep, even bronze, glistening faintly with a light sheen of perspiration in the warm room.
Put simply, he was fucking ripped.
I hesitated in the doorway.
“Mr. Henderson?” I said, my voice sounding small and thin in the quiet room. “I’m Sarah. I’ll be taking care of you today.”
He lifted his head slightly and looked at me, and goddamnit he was good-looking too. Not my usual type, of course, but his chiseled features and stubble were undeniable. He looked like he could bench-press a golf cart. To my surprise, he smiled and nodded.
“Nice to meet you.”
He placed his head back in the hole on the massage table and shifted slightly, the muscles in his back rippling. I took a deep breath and went to the heated cabinet, retrieving a bottle of the massage oil. I poured a pool of it into my palm, the scent of leather and allspice filling the air.
I started on his shoulders, my fingers tentative at first, pressing into his muscles. I felt a little awkward, embarrassed that I might not be doing it right, but, to my surprise, he let out a groan of satisfaction, the sound deep and resonant in the small room.
“That feels good,” he said.
“Thank you,” I replied, unsure if this was a normal masseuse-client interaction. “Just…ah…relax, I guess.”
He didn’t respond again immediately, but when I worked my hands up his spine, spreading the oil across his shoulders, he groaned again. I felt the corner of my mouth turn upward in a smile, and before long, everything started to melt away, my hands and mind focusing on the simple act of touching another person, of bringing them pleasure, of focusing my attention entirely upon them. My movements growing more confident with each pass, my palms gliding down the column of his spine, tracing the lines of his back, working the oil into his skin, my thumbs finding their way by instinct.
“Would you mind if I turned over?” he asked. “My shoulders feel great, but my front gets just as tight from the gym.”
“Oh,” I said, my hands stilling. I glanced at the clock on the wall. Thirty minutes had passed already. Thirty to go. “Um…sure.”
He pushed himself up and pivoted on the table, holding the white towel against himself with one hand to preserve his modesty as he flipped himself onto his back. I looked away for a moment, and when I turned back to him, the expanse of his chest was laid bare, his eyes closed, his hands by his side.
I moved to the head of the table, pouring more of the warm, spiced oil into my palms. Leaning forward, I placed my hands on his chest, my fingers splayed across him.
“Sorry,” I murmured, my face flushing as I realized I had just pressed my tits into his face. But Mr. Henderson just grunted, a low hum vibrated in his chest, a sound that was neither protest nor encouragement, but something in between.
I cleared my throat, trying to regain my professional composure, and focused on my task. But my hands, as if with a will of their own, began to drift lower, smoothing the oil over the hard ridges of his stomach, my breasts once again pushed against his face. This time, I didn’t apologize, and I watched, mesmerized, as my fingers traced the V of his hips, and I noticed that the towel, once draped loosely, was now taut, pulled upward into a distinct peak that strained against the white cotton.
His cock was hard.
Fuck.
I stood up quickly.
“All done,” I said, my voice a little too bright as I stepped back from the table. My palms were slick with oil, and I wiped them nervously on my uniform shorts.
“Already?” he asked, his voice a low grumble, his eyes remaining closed. “We still have a little time, don’t we?”
I looked at the clock, and to my horror and my excitement, I saw that he was right.
“Anyway,” he said, clearing his throat, his voice suddenly taking on a nervous quality. “Anya normally goes a little…further.”
The words hung in the air between us, heavy with implication. My mind flashed back to Mara’s words. Keep him happy. My eyes darted around the room. No security cameras here.
Was I really about to do what I thought I was about to do?
I stepped back to the table and reached out, pinching the edge of the towel. Slowly, ignoring all the voices telling me to stop, I dragged it from him, revealing him inch-by-inch, his cock lying heavily against his tummy, thick and hard. It wasn’t the biggest or the longest or even the prettiest, but holy fuck it was a real life cock, standing to attention, begging for my touch, craving my release. Had I really made it do that?
“Yes…” he breathed. “That feels better already. Thank you.”
Looking at him like that, my pussy so wet I could feel it through my shorts, and suddenly I knew I needed him as much as he needed me. I lifted up my top and gently removed my breasts from the cups of my bra, my nipples hard already.